


An Unpublished Monograph, by Mr. Sherlock Holmes, upon the Subject of Overcoming Arbitrary Self-Directed Prejudice in one Dr. John H. Watson

by Lefaym



Series: The Unpublished Papers of Sherlock Holmes and Dr John H Watson [1]
Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes - Doyle
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-04-04
Updated: 2010-04-04
Packaged: 2017-10-08 17:10:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,632
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/77711
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lefaym/pseuds/Lefaym
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Holmes is certain that his scientific methods can help relieve Watson's troubled mind.</p>
            </blockquote>





	An Unpublished Monograph, by Mr. Sherlock Holmes, upon the Subject of Overcoming Arbitrary Self-Directed Prejudice in one Dr. John H. Watson

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to Miss Winterhill for the primary beta and Lionessvalenti for the secondary read-through.

Blessed as I am with deductive skills that far surpass those of ordinary men and women, it has been my good fortune that I have, over the course of my life, experienced little trouble in distinguishing between those moral standards human societies adopt for the mutual good and those that are rooted in arbitrary prejudice and provide little benefit to the race as a whole. As such, when it became apparent to me, during my formative years, that women were of little interest to me insofar as sexual congress was concerned, and that indeed, I should prefer the company of other men in relation to such matters, I did not view this revelation as a cause for anxiety. I knew that I must conceal such proclivities from the population at large, lest the ill-informed opinions of others cause detriment to my person, but I did not suffer from the pangs of self-loathing and guilt that so often afflict men who share my disposition.

In truth, however, it was only in rare moments that I considered the nature of such desires at all, for I have always preferred to keep myself aloof from others in my attempts to refine those skills that have served me so well in my career as a consulting detective. Aside from a few exploratory dalliances, undertaken out of curiosity during my first year at University, I had little experience in such matters, and was largely content with this state of affairs. As I had frequently observed in my own line of work, romantic entanglements all too often have the effect of weakening the mind, and consequently a life of celibacy seemed most beneficial to me.

It was not until my twenty-seventh year, when I took rooms in Baker Street with Dr. John Watson, that I had the opportunity to observe another man of my own persuasion at close quarters. On the occasion of our first meeting it was apparent to me that Watson viewed me with the type of keen interest that men usually reserve for members of the opposite sex; I noted that he looked in my direction even when my attention was directed elsewhere, and there was a nervous stiffness to his movements that could not wholly be attributed to the injuries and illness he had so clearly suffered in Afghanistan.

To test my theory, I allowed myself to brush against Watson briefly as he observed the haemoglobin experiment in which I was engaged, and my suspicions were confirmed when he discreetly stepped away and placed his hat, which he still held in his left hand, across the front of his trousers. I felt most gratified that the application of my scientific methods had once again yielded results.

Over the course of the next several weeks, as we settled into our new lodgings, I was able to watch Watson closely, and although he seemed to be unaware of my attentions, it was clear that he watched me in return. He questioned me in detail about aspects of my life that I had thought would be immediately apparent to any person who should care to open their perceptive mind, yet I was aware that he was not unintelligent; indeed he had quite an aptitude for recalling facts that, although no doubt of interest to many, had little practical application. I saw that Watson appeared to be compiling notes upon my behaviour; no other conclusion could be drawn after I observed the surreptitious way that he would glance towards me even as his pen continued to scratch across the pages of his notebook. Although Watson's conclusions were undoubtedly limited in their scope, I nonetheless silently applauded his efforts.

My violin provided me with another method through which I could deepen my understanding of Watson's character. In the usual course of events, playing idly upon my instrument allowed my mind to operate more effectively, but when it became clear that Watson took a keen interest in my musical abilities, I indulged him by playing music that was agreeable to him, and I soon found that Watson revealed far more of himself to me when influenced by the compositions of Mendelssohn or Bach.

At such times, I noted that Watson would allow himself to relax into the armchair that he had claimed as his own; his lips would part slightly and his cheeks, so often pale as a consequence of his recent illness, would flush pink. His eyes would close for the duration of the piece, but as the final notes faded from the air, Watson's lids would open again, and I would observe a momentary flash of unrestrained passion in his expression. I confess that I attempted to elicit this reaction in him more than once in order to advance my knowledge of his person.

My only regret in pursuing this line of investigation was that, inevitably, I could not help but observe the deep shame that so frequently overtook Watson as the result of his inclinations. All too often, when Watson exhibited the signs of arousal, they were followed minutes later by a tightness to his skin and tension in his shoulders. At such times he would quickly retire to his bedroom claiming exhaustion, and his obvious discomfort told me that, even should he choose to relieve himself of his urges in privacy, his actions would be accompanied by self-recriminations that would counter any joy that he might find in the experience.

A similar expression of shame was evident in Watson's face—and indeed his entire stance—one evening in late February when he returned to our lodgings after a rare excursion out of doors. Mrs. Hudson, upon seeing the state of him, immediately attributed his pallor to exertions that exceed the physical tolerance of a convalescent man, and although she was not wrong, she did not guess at the nature of his activities throughout the afternoon. I, however, observed that Watson's shoes were stained with a particular yellow clay which may only be found in one of London's more disreputable streets. That the buttons of Watson's waistcoat—usually fastened with the precision one would expect from a military man—were askew confirmed my opinion that my fellow lodger had spent some time this day in an establishment that provided specialised services to men inclined towards the intimate company of other men.

That night I found myself pondering the nature of Watson's affliction, and I wondered if indeed my own attempt to study his behaviour may have worsened his situation, for in my pursuit of knowledge I had subtly prompted him to engage in activities that had evidently caused him distress.

I was unable to focus my attention on this matter overlong, however, as I soon found myself sinking into a dull black mood that lay upon me for half a week. I spent my hours languid upon the settee, my mind empty of useful thought. For three days, Watson avoided my company and I cannot blame him, for I am ill-suited to companionship when such moods take me. After that period of time had elapsed, I found him standing above me, concern evident in his expression.

The following conversation ensued:

"Are you sure that you're not in need of any assistance, old chap?" Watson asked me.

"I am not in need of any assistance that you might be able to provide," I replied with a degree of irritation.

Though my words were harsh, Watson barely flinched as he bent over me. He placed a gentle thumb above each of my eyelids in turn, pulling them back in order to examine my pupils, and he subsequently placed two fingers along the side of my carotid artery, so that he might use my pulse to determine my heart rate.

"It seems you will be fine," he said as he straightened.

"As I told you not a minute ago," said I, "I am in no need of assistance, and your examination was quite unnecessary."

"In that case, I shan't trouble you longer," he informed me, his words containing only the barest hint of ire.

After Watson left the room, I closed my eyes in an attempt to return to idleness, but upon doing so, I found that stasis was no longer desirable to me. Within an hour, I felt quite energetic, and I had Mrs. Hudson bring me a full breakfast, though the hour was more suited to supper.

As my mind resumed its normal function, it turned once again to the problems I had been considering before falling into my stupor. The evident concern that Watson had displayed towards my person reminded me that I must not abandon my study, and it soon seemed clear to me that my line of inquiry must now include an attempt to alleviate Watson's distress, for this would provide me with expanded opportunities to observe the man's behaviours. I knew, however, that this process of alleviation would require careful planning, lest I inadvertently worsen the situation, thereby bringing my study to a premature end.

Direct confrontation was impossible. I have frequently observed, in my line of work, that a man confronted with a truth of which he is ashamed is only inclined to deny that truth more vehemently, and may even become hostile. As Watson had thus far proved himself to be an amicable companion, inclined to tolerate the many oddities in my own character, I had no desire to partake in any action that might cause him to abandon our most convenient arrangement.

Fortunately, within the space of two days, events conspired to provide me with the opportunity to reveal my skills of observation and deduction to my friend, for I knew that this must be the first step in relieving his troubled mind; only when he appreciated my abilities would I be able to turn him against the prejudices that society had so unfortunately instilled in him. As Watson himself has recorded in his account of _A Study in Scarlet_, my article upon "The Book of Life", in which I outline the Science of Deduction and Analysis, was published in the early days of March that year, and it was an easy thing to ensure that Watson himself stumbled upon the relevant magazine over breakfast.

Watson's initial disbelief with regard to my deductive abilities did not discourage me in my endeavour; indeed, it provided me with an opportunity to demonstrate my skills and so build his faith in them. Such was also my motive when I requested his presence as I investigated the murder of Mr. Enoch J. Drebber at the invitation of Inspector Gregson.

Although I always attempt to implement my scientific methods without the interference of emotion, I cannot deny that I felt both pride and pleasure when it became apparent that Watson's scepticism towards the application of my deductive arts had turned to deep admiration. He was most forthright upon the topic, and while I could see that he found observing my methods most stimulating, while we worked on the case, I did not observe in him any sign of the shame that had so plagued him when his desires manifested themselves during quieter moments.

I feared, nonetheless, that Watson's ill health should undo my efforts, for on account of his nerves he was forced to remain at home while I spent an afternoon at a concert, and when I returned, I found him most miserable, and though he claimed that the horrific nature of the case had upset him, I could not discount the possibility that his mind was once again troubled by his enjoyment of my company. I noted, in particular, that his drawn and pale features were accompanied by a nervous tapping of his fingers upon his armrest and that he made several attempts to avoid meeting my gaze. Consequently, I increased my efforts to involve Watson in the case, for I knew that he should not be able to dwell on darker thoughts if his mind was engaged.

My readers will be familiar with the details of the investigation from Watson's record of it, and they will also know, from reading his rather fanciful account of Miss Lucy Ferrier's sad tale, that the case whetted his rather romantic imagination, to the extent that he was inclined to invent details that would fill the gaps in the sorry tale related to us by Mr. Jefferson Hope. In spite of his propensity to create such fancies, however, Watson's account of his own exuberance following my successful completion of the case is rather understated. Indeed, as we discussed the erstwhile mystery that evening, as the first newspaper reports began to arrive, he appeared most stimulated, and in better health than I had ever yet seen him.

Of course, his reasons for providing his readers with a rather more subdued account are clear to me, for he could not tell the whole truth in this instance without revealing to the world those secrets that must be kept for the sake of our mutual wellbeing. In my own records, however, which shall not see the light of day until long after my death, the more accurate story may be told.

In this account I may relate that Watson, energised by our success, walked back and forth across our sitting room with barely a limp, recounting the details of the case, declaring his intention to record it in writing, and stopping to shake my hand at regular intervals. I was not insensible of his desire for close contact, and each time he took my hand, I subtly pulled him in a little closer, for it is not difficult to persuade a man without his knowledge when one is inviting him to act in accordance with his own inclinations.

"You have certainly done a brilliant job, old chap, brilliant indeed," he said, the fifth time he crossed my path thus.

I knew from both his words and his actions that the moment was ripe, and I inclined my head, as though afflicted by modesty. It was no surprise to me to feel Watson's lips press briefly against my forehead in a congratulatory gesture that might be shared between brothers, for I had deduced that this would be Watson's natural response to my actions. I had also predicted that his actions, when he observed me raise my eyes once more, would take the form of a more intimate gesture; that of a kiss between lovers.

This action initiated, I immediately set about prolonging it. I parted my lips as he pressed his own mouth against mine and fell back willingly when he moved forward, pushing me against the wall of our sitting-room. I was delighted to hear a muffled exclamation of pleasure escape from Watson's mouth and reverberate into my own, and I clutched tightly at his waistcoat that I might pull him yet closer still.

It was in this action, however, that I made a mistake that almost cost me a positive outcome, for in the spirit of the moment, I had allowed my eyes to close, and like a fool I failed to perceive that, though Watson's body responded most eagerly to my attentions, our embrace had sent his mind into turmoil. Even as I drew him closer to me, I felt Watson's entire frame grow tense, and he pulled himself from my grasp, and when I opened my eyes, I saw him standing before me, an expression of abject horror upon his face.

"Holmes—" he said to me, as though he was a man suffering from strangulation, "Holmes—I must—you must accept my apologies—"

I answered Watson calmly, knowing that an even countenance was essential should I have any hope of salvaging my experiment. "Apologies, my dear Watson? Whatever for?"

Watson looked at me as though I was a madman. "For—for—I have encouraged you to share in my own depravity, I have pulled you down—"

I raised my hand and Watson grew silent. "I perceive no depravity in our actions," I said. "Nor do I perceive it in any deeds we might engage in later as a consequence."

"But Holmes!" said Watson, "Surely—surely it is not logical—"

"You are out of sorts," I told Watson firmly. "You must sit down."

"Yes—yes, I think I better had," Watson agreed, and within moments he fell into his armchair.

"I shall have Mrs. Hudson bring us some tea," I informed him, and I wasted no time in stepping out of our rooms to make this request of our good landlady.

I kept silent as we awaited Mrs. Hudson's brew, for I saw that Watson needed time to steady his nerves, and I knew that one false move at this moment could result in failure for myself and a heightened degree of unnecessary shame in poor Watson. When the tea arrived, I openly added a cautious measure of my best whisky to the pot; enough that it might assist my friend in regaining his earlier good spirits, though not so much that it might impair his judgement.

As Watson sipped at his tea, I relaxed into my own armchair to demonstrate to my companion that there was no cause for anxiety; I have often observed that one may sway even intelligent men in this manner.

"Now, Watson," I said, when I felt sure the moment was right, "I fear that earlier you were about to cast aspersions upon my logic. This is, you understand, an insult that I cannot allow to stand." I permitted myself a small smile, so that Watson might not take my words too seriously.

Watson closed his eyes a moment before speaking. "Surely Holmes," said he, "there can be no logical justification for—for those acts which—why it seems to contravene the very laws of God and nature!"

"My dear fellow!" I exclaimed, "Surely you have observed that men use the notion of such laws merely to justify assumptions that have no basis in fact! The intricacies of human behaviour, which I have studied so closely, are not beholden to such gross simplifications."

"But Holmes," Watson objected, "nature dictates that sexual relations between men and women is the only means by which we might perpetuate our species. On those grounds alone it seems clear to me that similar relations between two members of the same sex must be frowned upon—though I confess that I have found it difficult to avoid entering into such relations throughout the course of my life."

"Ah, Watson." I looked across at him sharply. "You unconscious mind is more rational than the conscious part, I fear."

"Whatever can you mean?"

"The part of your mind of which you are not overtly aware knows that there is no danger that our species should drive itself to extinction. It is abundantly apparent to even the least observant members of our society that men and women will not cease to share sexual relations as a consequence of a few of us being drawn to members of our own sex. Consider also—our society and our Church both uphold celibacy as a virtue. Surely, if the continuation of the species provided solid grounds for moral censure, then this should not be the case."

"Your arguments astound me!"

"But you cannot fault my logic," I said. "Your conscious mind has been clouded by prejudices instilled while you were but a babe, but through the application of rational thought, you may now clear away those clouds."

"What you say contradicts all medical literature on the subject," Watson replied, but his objection lacked fervour; I could see that my methods, which had so impressed him earlier, were beginning to sway his mind.

"Medical literature is not, I am afraid, free from bias."

"I do not know what to think."

At Watson's words, I stood, and took two steps so that I faced him in his chair. To my surprise, I found that I had to swallow before speaking, for I knew this to be a crucial moment insofar as my research was concerned, and I did not wish for it to go awry.

"I think, my dear Watson," I said, "that you should accompany me to my bedchamber tonight. There is a marked chill in the air, and I should welcome the warmth of your companionship." It could not hurt, I reasoned, to emphasise the benefits that Watson should receive should he allow me to persuade him.

I extended my hand towards him, and I cannot deny that I felt relief when Watson took it and allowed me to pull him to his feet.

"Are you sure, Holmes," Watson asked me, "that your thinking is sound in this?"

"I have never been more certain," said I.

To prove that I spoke truly, I drew him close to me for a second time and pressed my mouth to his. This overture was successful, for as I pulled him in I felt the last of Watson's resistance dissipate, and I congratulated myself on a job well done.

Later that night, Watson lay sleeping in my bed beside me and I perceived, through observing his steady even breathing, that he was calm and sated; no sign of guilt was evident in his form. Nonetheless, I was aware that the preconceptions and prejudices of a lifetime may not be easily dispelled, and I prepared myself for the re-emergence of those thoughts and feelings that had afflicted him earlier.

I did not, however, allow myself to dwell upon this matter overlong. The hour was late, and my companion's pleasant warmth lulled me into a slumber. I knew that for this night at least, Watson would not be troubled, and that I should have ample opportunity in the future to apply my scientific methods to my ongoing analysis of Watson's character.

**Author's Note:**

> Follow-up fic (can be read indepdendently): [Experience and Conditioning: An Account Taken from the Private Papers of Dr. John H. Watson](http://archiveofourown.org/works/83200)


End file.
